We shall not be moved, In Theory
by Thalaba
Summary: Katie starts a campaign to help Quidditch players, but can she see it to the end with no one left beside her?


Six months. She had been pursuing this battle for six months and she was sick of it: sick of her sore throat and back and feet, sick of the lonely nights, sick of the public scrutiny and the betrayal and the _absolute_ embarrassment that every day of protesting within the Ministry of Magic had brought her. Katie Bell was sick of everything. There were bandages on her fingers that she was too stubborn to heal, and she was positive a security agent or two had placed a silencing charm around her claimed part of the Atrium, where (as they had reported repeatedly) she had been making their lives a living hell. Even as she brought a cup of the dark bitter liquid to her mouth, Katie knew she had probably developed a coffee addiction, and that it, combined with the emotional roller coaster that was now her life, had made her irritable and almost unapproachable to anyone with a title before their name. Six months. Six bloody months.

Katie hadn't made any new signs in weeks; her slogans were now trite and as tired as she, and the thousands of witches and wizards that passed through the Ministry on a daily basis had long since stopped reading them. More attention had been paid to her appearance and so-called diminished social status in _The Prophet_ than her actual purpose in darkening the doors of the Department of Magical Games and Sports: _Katie Bell's Fat Secrets_, _Bell's Single Jingle Interrupts Ministry Ball_, _Katie Having the Craic with Quidditch League?_ Nobody cared about reasons anymore. Her story was old news, even if it hadn't been _her_ story to begin with.

"Ms. Bell! Ms Bell!"

Katie sighed, placed her paper cup back down beside her much-abused guitar, and waited for security officer Raithbone to ask her once again to make sure her rubbish was placed in the appropriate bin. The portly man with a smooth shiny pate on the crown of his head had sharp eagle eyes and a quick step that danced around goblins and wizarding officials as easily as they did her swinging limbs. She had been motivated enough to swing her legs once.

"Ms. Bell."

"Raithbone."

"I've been instructed to escort you to Level One."

". . .Pardon?"

"Senior Undersecretary Weasley requests your presence."

She was tired. But Katie Bell refused to let her mouth fall open.

**Six Months Ago:**

"Bloody hell Katie! It's just not fair!"

Katie was fuming herself but wisely put her own emotional agenda in check, allowing Angelina's to take full reign of the small flat her friend shared with husband George and ten year old daughter Roxanne. Said _usually_ amiable child was having her own tantrum down the hall in the purple and orange bedroom Katie had helped Angelina paint three years ago: _"Why aren't we using our Merlin-given talents again?" "Because it's more fun this way. And if I let George do it he'll blow out half the wall."_ The tall, dark, gorgeously sculpted Angelina wasn't showing yet, but underneath that Molly Weasley brand jumper was a two month bundle of **Oh my!** that both parents had been trying to keep hidden from family and other loudmouths; not that they weren't deliriously pleased with the new life they would be bringing into this much safer world, but Angelina didn't have the type of job security that allowed for these sorts of blessed events. Roxanne let out another wail and while Angelina massaged her temples Katie stopped herself from casting a spanking jinx—the girl would probably start hyperventilating soon, she had worked herself into such a snit.

"She thinks we did this on purpose—" Angelina gestured to her belly, "because we don't love her enough, that we're somehow upset with her and want to start fresh with a new baby!" Angelina made an exasperated sound and blinked back tears that her 'stupid, hormonal body was leaking every fifteen minutes', but Katie knew that was only an excuse. "So I told George to get rid of that Muggle telly—I mean really Katie! Where does Roxanne get that sort of rubbish?" Katie relaxed her tightened lips and shrugged, hoping Angelina would just get back on track and explain more of how she had been let go from the Tutshill Tornados roster.

"They'll let me try out again once the baby's born," Angelina's sneer showed just what she thought of that silver-lining. "But that means seven months out of competition! How can Lloyds expect me to measure up after seven months?" Ormond Lloyds: owner of the Tornados and two comments shy of being a complete chauvinistic arse. Katie pushed back a stray lock of chestnut hair.

"What about the Harpies?" she offered. "They've always allowed pregnant players."

"That's not the point Katie," Angelina sat down with a huff in the opposite side chair. "Being preggers doesn't suddenly take away all my experience on a broom! I shouldn't have to make a choice between playing Quidditch and having this baby!" She paused and then gave Katie a sad rueful smile. "Besides I already Flooed them. I'd still have to try out and I'd be starting at the bottom rung."

"MOMMY DOESN'T LOVE ME ANYMORE!"

"That's a bloody lie and you know it Roxanne Alicia Weasley!"

"Well then what about the Ministry?" Katie leaned forward and rested her forearms on her knees. "There's got to be some kind of Wizarding Rights abuses happening here." She gave her distraught friend a pointed look. "You're a War hero and you have family in high places Angelina, why don't you use them."

"Nepotism is a nasty word," Angelina shook her head, her long black braids rustling around her shoulders. "And even though they're back on speaking terms, George would never forgive me if I went to Percy for anything." Katie took a deep breath and nodded, reminding herself as she listened to the pigtailed girls sobs that that was what happened when two incredibly stubborn people procreated.

"Right then."

"Excuse me Miss? Miss! You can't do that! Regulations—"

"What is that madwoman doing to the fountain?"

"Miss!"

_"You noble players all, stand up now, stand up now!  
>You noble players all, stand up now!<br>The vast field to maintain, seeing owners flaunt their name  
>Your flying does maintain, and journalists defame<br>Stand up now, stand up now!_

_Beaters, Keepers, Chasers, stand up now, stand up now!  
>Beaters, Keepers, Chasers, stand up now!<br>Your rosters to uphold, seeing owners are so bold,  
>To cheat you if they could, and rights from you to hold<br>Stand up now, players all!_

_The league is all their law, stand up now, stand up now!  
>The league is all their law, stand up now!<br>The league is all their law to keep players in awe  
>But they no vision saw to maintain such a law<br>Stand up now, players all!_

_'Gainst owners and the law, stand up now, stand up now!  
>'Gainst owners and the law, stand up now!<br>For tyrants they are both even flat against their oath,  
>To grant us they are loath free flowing communication both<br>Stand up now, players all!_

"Katie," the older Weasley glanced over a slanted pair of horn-rimmed glasses, his expression stormy. "You cannot simply _chain_ yourself to Ministry property, no matter how impassioned you feel! And how could you be so short-sighted to believe the Aurors wouldn't be able to release you? They _are_ employed to protect the British Wizarding World you know." There may have been orderly stacks of files upon his large Undersecretary desk, but on the surrounding side tables and hardwood floor, papers were sloppily placed and pushed around, and even as he spoke inter-department memo after memo appeared, piling up in one large unanswered clump. Merlin, Angelina had been deluded thinking Percy was handling his divorce in a healthy manner. _This_ wasn't healthy behaviour for the Percy Weasley she knew.

"Percy," Katie replied in the same severely annoyed tone, her foot tapping staccato beats against the gleaming metal of the 'guests' chair she currently occupied. "As a _member_ of the British Wizarding World my taxes go to pay the salary of those Aurors—who really need to work on their people skills I must say—and every other politician who works here. So if I have to I will chain myself to that bloody fountain for a _year_ unless changes are made to the firing processes concerning professional Quidditch players." His pale face had turned an angry red, emphasizing the light smattering of freckles dashed across the bridge of his straight nose. Katie really should not have been noticing these things, not after the week she had had. "Bloody hell Percy! It's just not fair! She's your sister-in-law and she's getting the shaft!"

Percy pushed back his seat, stalked over to the multitude of awaiting messages and began stuffing the fluttering paper airplanes into larger envelope. The sleeves of his not-so-crisp dress shirt were rolled up to the elbows and she was positive there were ink stains on those long fingers. "You called us _tyrants_ Katie," he bit out. "In that little ditty of yours. After everything we've fought for, everything we've lost and had to build anew, you dare call us tyrants simply because League owners would rather not have the death of an unborn child, due to a misplaced bludger, on their heads! Seriously."

"That's not the point!" Katie had dropped her head back, had gritted her teeth and momentarily felt like a heel until encompassed by the sense of déjà vu. "Angelina shouldn't have to choose between her job and motherhood. Hundreds of pregnant women have played for the Harpies; there have never been any lawsuits brought up against _their_ owners for neglect of players safety because women can take care of their bloody selves!" Katie stood up and began to pace while Percy scribbled something on the full envelope and practically hurled it through his office door. "Being pregnant doesn't suddenly turn an experienced female player into a witless hag!"

"No because you're certainly doing a wonderful job all on your own." Katie glared at him with incredulous brown eyes until Percy finally huffed and looked away, gathering together files in a determined fashion. "None of this matters Katie as all Quidditch complaints must be sent through the Department of Magical Games and Sports first—"

"Oh Level Seven is a joke and you know it!" the brunette talked over him, their voices rising in decibel and tone. "The Ministry is only concerned with League revenue in terms of world-wide sales and promotional development—"

"And only after the proper forms have been addressed and satisfaction hasn't been reached can you then bring your query to the Minister—"

"As long as the bottom line is being covered, the Ministry is fine with letting owners decide player management no matter how unethically they are treated—"

"Is on a cross-cultural exchange in Nairobi and won't return for several weeks—"

"Be a League-wide set of basic regulations that _all_ teams must follow that takes into account player equity without destroying the competition aspect of the game between the thirteen teams we have—"

"You can submit your complaints directly then and not a moment before!"

"And you can kiss my arse!"

They were both breathing heavily, chests rising and falling in rhythm, and almost yelling into each other's faces. How had they become so physically close? Hadn't she been moving back and forth besides that awful chair?

It wouldn't be fair to say Katie jumped Percy or vice versa. The attack was a united front with arms clasping like solid bands and mouths moving steadily, firmly, until breath needed to be fought for and specific pieces of clothing needed to be done away with. Katie moaned and arched into the hand Percy had pushed down past the waistband of her slacks, underneath her panties to rub hard and insistent against her clit. He crowded her, held Katie tight as if he hadn't touched a woman in months and needed the feel of breasts and hips more than the next breath of air and was willing to fight for it as well. While Katie couldn't claim the same for men, she was still wet and wanting. She didn't need time—it would have been unwelcome in their present state of frenzy—and when Percy spun her around and pushed her down, Katie dropped onto his desk without a word, gasping at the rough rasp of her slacks being pulled over her thighs and backside, at how turned on she was by being exposed in such a manner. The offices and halls in Level One were so busy, assistants and junior members running all over the place delivering mail or needing pages signed. Merlin, anyone could just walk in! There was a hard smack to her left cheek and Katie thrust back just as Percy stepped in, kicking her stance further apart. The sweet burn as he entered had Katie's toes curling in her trainers, her hands reaching for something to hold on to, for leverage, and, as if he knew exactly what she was searching for, Percy leaned over and clasped her wrists, spreading her arms out to the sides until Katie was holding the edges of the desk. He knocked over several files on his way back to claiming her hips.

"Merlin, Katie," he hissed, flesh slapping against flesh in no real pattern just in the knowledge of _Now! Now! Now!_ and a release neither had known how badly was desired. "Merlin. . .fuck. . .fuck you're still wearing your coat." She was. The short wool coat was riding up, bunching around the back of her neck with the force of his thrusts and her prone position. It was stuffy and uncomfortable but Katie wasn't going to stop the strength moving between her legs to remove last year's Yule present. She wanted more friction and twisted her hips, groaning when Percy reacted immediately to slide his hand back to its place on her nub, muffling a shriek upon files for environmental protection and land agreements when he pinched it then moved his fingers back through her folds to where they were joined. Her breasts ached and the heat in her core pooled to overflowing; Katie held on tight as the climax rolled through her trembling legs and torso. "I want someone to come in," Percy picked up the pace, sending another jolt of pleasure through Katie's body. "I want them to see. I am so. . .so sick of talking." Percy came with a drawn out grunt, his hands clamping down hard, one on her hip and the other still pressed into her sensitive parts. Katie winced and bit her lip but didn't try to move away.

It was after they had been quiet for a while, when the only sounds now came from outside his office, that Katie finally let go of his desk and turned her head to look back at Percy, a curl of red hair hanging over his forehead. He wasn't smiling either. She dropped her cheek back down on the files.

"Shite."

Katie started organizing. She got a leave of absence from her position at St. Mungo's and used the Department of Magical Games and Sports for the only thing it was good for—gathering the names, contact numbers, and home addresses of every single person (male and female) connected to playing the game of Quidditch. Angelina thought she had gone barmy but Katie insisted it was the principal of the thing and pushed her friend into the spotlight as a representative of all players who had been mistreated. Third string players came out of the wood-work, women who had wanted to have children but were too worried about loosing their spot on the team and a possible chance at fame and fortune. The papers had enough fodder for weeks trying to 'out' pregnant keepers, while clubs complained about sponsers backing out and investors leaving deals unsigned all because of a handful of women and their ticking maternal clocks.

"What's all this about Bell?" Marcus Flint, captain of the Falmouth Falcons, sneered at her one day. She was completing another circuit of the Atrium, sign balanced over one shoulder, when the behemoth approached through the crowd of Ministry employees, a fourth donut in her hand and some powdered sugar of the third still lingering on her chin. Katie listened to him rant about her keeping her nose out of an industry she didn't belong in, then offered him a cookie which he accepted after a momentary stare-down.

"Flint, you and that woman you are so lucky to call 'wife' want children one of these days right?" He grunted his agreement. "Well wouldn't you want to be part of their formative first months as well? Actually see them crawl instead of having the pictures sent to you because you're playing a two week match in Poland and can't come home?"

". . .What?"

Katie sighed, knowing she had used too many syllables.

"Paid maternity leave, Marcus. Men should have it too."

The entire British and Irish Quidditch League shut down for two months after that, players coming together for the first mass strike in the history of the game. Now it wasn't just Katie protesting on Level Eight, but hundreds of other players as well. Security was run ragged keeping their wands at the ready and eyes peeled for unregulated usage of magic within the walls of their sacred government facilty, but no one turned violent. The players wanted what was their due, what was fair, what Katie had been asking for all along. She sent a memo back to Level One unread one day, a message scrawled on the back: _I am doing important things and have no time to speak to you._

"What do you mean this has to stop?"

Katie was once again all alone on Level Eight. The players had gone back to their respective pitches once the thirteen teams announced a slight salary raise, written up as a cost of living increase. It had been unexpected and something most people couldn't pass up. Also, they were sick and tired of not playing, sick and tired of the microphones in their faces and the subpar cafeteria food served in the Ministry. Kingsley had come down himself to speak with Katie the day after it happened. Since Level Seven was only responsible for the organzation of sporting events and maintaining anti-Muggle security at said events—plus that Ludricrous Patents Office that no one really paid attention to—his hands were tied when it came to negotiations between players and the owners of their teams. It was, in effect, not a Ministry matter. Katie had thanked him and then picked up her guitar once more to sing her anthem, 'tyrants' excluded of course. Now she looked at her friend with a breaking heart. This had all been for Angelina! Their group had once lived and died to protect their friends, and Katie hadn't been about to stand by and watch _pregnancy_ become the new _Mudblood._

Angelina folded her arms, limbs resting between her considerable eight month baby bump and globe-like breasts. Merlin, the woman glowed! Katie on the other hand had dark circles beneath her eyes and the driest feet this side of the Sahara.

"Lloyds asked me to come back."

"Too little, too late Angelina."

"Not on the team Katie," the woman frowned. "I was nominated to be the owners new liasion with the Department of Magical Games and Sports ." Katie wanted to throw up. "There's too much paperwork and bureaucracy when it comes to scheduling games, and the owners all want things to proceed faster than—"

"Bloody hell, do you hear yourself?" Katie dropped her sign on the floor with a clatter, several eyes briefly turning to see the commotion. But they had seen it all before and continued walking. "These people sacked you without any consideration and now you're just going to waltz back in—and better than that, you're going to help them screw other players just like they screwed you!"

"At least it's a job Katie Bell!" Angelina shot back. "We can't all be Healers, living the single life without any responsibilities and getting fat off our big savings accounts!"

Katie's eyes bulged and then a moment later so did Angelina's followed by a splash of wetness falling heavily onto the Atrium floor.

"Oh Merlin Katie! My water just broke!"

"She had a boy," Percy offered information she already knew. "They're going to name him Fred." Katie nodded from the other side of the desk. Percy had a soft quiet smile on his face as he pushed up his glasses. "He looks like a Fred."

There was a moment of silence, for remembrance, and then Katie cleared her throat.

"What did you want to see me about Percy? All my coffee is going to get cold and nicked." He gave her a quizzical look then nodded.

"Ah. Yes, well. Through Level Seven," he produced a file from a stack of other equally undistinguishable files, "I've received word that three other professional teams wish to put on record their acceptance to keep expectant mothers on their club roster, up to and including their seventh month of pregnancy." He paused, waiting for her to say something, and when she didn't pushed on. "This is of course with full pay Katie, and the players will be assured their spot once they return. You have to see this as a success."

A success? Three out of thirteen?

"Are the Tornadoes on that list?"

". . .No." Percy placed the file back down and clasped his hands on top of the desk. Once again Katie nodded but she let her eyes drift over to the window and the glamoured winter scene it reflected back. There was a navy sky of twinkling stars and snow fell in gentle bunches. It was half four and, while crisp, this December had yet to be what Katie would call snowy. Percy was still staring and Katie didn't want the eye contact.

"Katie. . .Are you—"

"It's not yours," she said truthfully, not unkindly. From the corner of her eye she could she him sit back, brush a hand over his tie. They were jerky movements and Katie sighed. "Six months ago I was going to tell a very close, good friend some rather _unwelcome_ news I had recently found out. And instead I found something else to worry about."

"What are you—"

"Obviously I'm keeping him!" Katie chuckled, glancing down at her jumper-covered belly. She had grown so used to avoiding all the clichés: no resting her palm protectively against the bump; no walking around with her hands on her back; no gazing adoringly at the place where her child was growing. "It's a little late for anything else. And before you ask," Katie stood up, "the biological father doesn't know, and I'm going to keep it that way. He's young. And he doesn't need this stress."

"But you do."

Katie raised an eyebrow at Percy's non-question and shook her head. "Good evening Percy."

"Katie."

She stopped at his door, waiting as Percy untangled himself from his desk and caught robe. "I'm not going to do any more protesting if that's what you're worried about. I find I'm just too tired for it any more."

"Would you like to get a cup of coffee with me?"

Katie turned around and faced him, blinking in surprise when she felt a sharp kick.

". . .What is it?" he asked with concern. Katie shook her head again.

"I think I'd like a salad."

When she returned home that night with plans to met Percy for lunch the next day, after shrugging off her clothes and taking a hot shower that curled her long brown hair in the heavy steam. And after she admired her changed body in the mirror, noticing the stretch marks and larger, sensitive nipples as if for the first time. And after she pulled on an old worn Cannons jersey and settled down on her couch with a dog-eared paperback. When she returned home that night, Katie rested.


End file.
